OCR Text |
Show Motherlunge a novel 75 feel of the cold necks in my hand, just before I let them fly. We were saving the earth! Reduce, reuse, recycle! Yet at the recycling center Dorothy never heard our shouts of displaced eco-joy. She stayed dozing in the car. She'd begun her downward slide. On Christmas Eve I cooked a ham. Dorothy, who had been sleeping in the front room all day until dinner was ready, sat between me and Joseph at the table. Joseph, who was wearing the white wig of Pavia's he had found in the telephone book drawer, stood up for a toast. "Peace," he said, looking at us seriously, one at a time. "And for Dorothy, suuntsaa." He drained his glass, and sat heavily back down. Dorothy smiled at him incuriously. She reached up and pulled the wig off his head, then tossed it in the kitchen comer with General. She took a slice of ham off her plate and threw it, too, onto the floor. "Suuntsaa," Dorothy told the dog. "That means love, in Shoshone." A chair fell over with a crash. And we saw that Pavia suddenly was on all fours on the tile, scrambling with General with her head down, wild, her hair around her face. "NO!" she yelled, and she pulled her hand back just as General snapped. I jumped up from my chair and all at once Pavia was standing too, her fist clutching the slice of ham and one knee hitched up, showing the sole of her shoe to General. He growled at her. "You think I'm rich?" Pavia screamed at Dorothy. Pavia was panting. She put her foot down. "You think it's okay to waste food?" |